


You Reached into the Heavens

by RiceQueen



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Funeral, M/M, Nobody Dies, Quests, except one, lore - i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiceQueen/pseuds/RiceQueen
Summary: Khadgar agrees to accompany Durotan in finding his mate, Draka. He learns about orc culture and that perhaps, these orcs deserved to be seen as more than just beasts.Please Note: This fic is labelled as Durotan/Khadgar because this is a sort of test for interest. It CAN be read as a simple no-pairing fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote up real quick. Let me know what you think!

“I’ll go with him.”

Anduin turned to the mage with a raised eyebrow, the hand on his weapon relaxing slightly. Khadgar felt his mouth go dry, and his stomach contort. Why had he just volunteered himself? What was he thinking? 

Llane was looking at him with speculation, leaning hard on the table. Despite the win at the portal, there were still orcs to take care of. Durotan had been revived, but there were still orcs who would not follow him, and continued to worship Gul’dan and the Fel. The Alliance was taking care of that, and while Durotan had joined this meeting and promised to help as much as he and his warband were able, his primary desire was to find his mate and son.

When Garona translated this to Llane, Khadgar had stepped forward, and offered to go with him. After his battle with Medivh, he’d promptly taken a portal to Stormwind, shocked to see that an even larger one had been opened and masses of citizens running through them. Concentrating on not being trampled, Khadgar raced against the flow of people and through the massive gate. Llane stood at the top of the stone stairs, caked in blood as he fought off the army of orcs. After it all finished, and Medivh stopped his chanting, the portal snuffed out. Khadgar used his magic as a protective shield for the remaining people, creating a larger blue sphere than he ever had before. When Durotan joined the battlefield, Gul’dan having left the fight to open the portal, many of the orcs dropped their weapons in surrender. Garona stayed close to Llane, and eventually the losing orcs followed their leader in an escape. 

It wasn’t that long ago, a few hours maybe. Khadgar was weakened and exhausted, and Durotan did not look any better. In fact worse, much of his muscles deteriorated and skin loose on his bones. Despite that, the orc stood tall and took much strength from his people. Not unlike Llane. 

“Well,” the king began slowly, “I understand this is an important venture. Perhaps we should all rest and reconcile tonight.” He turned to Anduin, who nodded in agreement. “There are other generals who can hold them off until we make our decision. Now that the other races have decided we are worth fighting for,” he finished bitterly, though sighed and shook his head. Llane couldn’t wish anyone ill, no matter who they were. He protected his people at any cost, but did not do so with a smile.

Garona repeated this to Durotan, who seemed firm in leaving right away. Khadgar watched his massive fists clench and unclench, trembling with the effort. He stepped forward, looking at Durotan before Garona, “We can better find your mate and child after rest. Let the Kirin Tor take a look at you first, at least.” After hearing it in orcish, Durotan growled and took an angry step forward, glaring at Khadgar. The mage swallowed but stood in place as the orc said something, low and quiet and near afraid. Garona looked troubled, and turned to Khadgar. The mage looked straight at the other orc to return his gaze, trying to put all his strength and promise into it. The half-orc opened her mouth to speak, but Khadgar knew what it was about before she could. “Their magic is as mine. It is not,” and here his eyes glowed blue, “the Fel. I banished it from the Guardian. Let me banish it from you, too.”

Not an hour later, Khadgar lay resting in a room somewhere in the castle. He hadn’t thought of much after that conversation, laying in his bed clothes and staring at the ceiling. He was supposed to be resting, and his body threatened to shut down if not his brain. Khadgar was not cocky. He took no pleasure from what he had done for Medivh. But it seemed to him the best reason, and only reason truly, that would make Durotan trust him. That, and he wanted to show the others at the table that he did in fact deserve their respect. From now on the only one to call him spell-chucker would be Lothar.

Across the hall, the Archmages treated Durotan. His wolf, Sharptooth, rested uneasily outside the room, ears perking up every now and again for sounds that Khadgar couldn’t hear. He had kept his door open, in case he had to leave in a rush. It seemed silly. Perhaps there was another reason, but the mage really didn’t know what it could be. 

At some point he fell asleep. He really didn’t know when that happened, either.

-

“Khadgar!”

Lothar shook him awake, looking urgent at first bleary glance. Khadgar was on his feet faster than he could handle, and dizzy, shoved himself into his robe before the man could say anything. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were ready for anything.”

“Lothar!” Annoyed, the mage slumped back onto the bed, all exhaustion. He hadn’t even had time for a bath.

“That, but it’s also time to meet with Llane. He summons you.” At that, Khadgar nodded, rubbing his hands up his face in an attempt to wake up a bit more. “How is he?” Anduin kicked the mages boots to him as he dressed, and responded after a thoughtful pause, “Who, Llane or Durotan?” Khadgar rolled his eyes, “Llane.”

“In that case, he’s doing as well as can be expected. Taria is just happy to have him home, but I think he won’t sleep well until all the orcs have been killed.”

Khadgar looked up sharply, his mouth a firm line.

Lothar held up his hands in a surrendering fashion, “Gul’dan’s orcs. Not Durotan’s.”

The mage nodded in response, feeling his shoulders sag in relief. Llane wasn’t bloodthirsty. But even after the rest of the orcs were rounded up they still had to decide what was to be done with the remaining Frostwolves. Khadgar was grateful to the orcs for their aid, and for seeing that in order to avoid darkness they had to turn against their own kind. A terrible decision to have to make, and not one made lightly. Durotan was well respected. He followed Lothar to the room they had previously occupied, grateful because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his way.

“Khadgar,” Taria greeted him with a smile. Ever the sweetheart, he thought fondly, bowing low and returning the sentiment. “Lady Taria.”

At the table, Llane sat with Lothar to his left and Taria to his right. Khadgar stood behind Taria, and the other generals filled the rest of the space. Mostly. There were now several empty chairs. 

“Are we gathered?”

“Not quite. We await Durotan and his own.”

As if on queue, the double doors opened wide. Durotan strode in, looking very much like his old self. It seemed they had been unable to regrow his lost muscle, but colour had returned to his skin and light into his eyes. His clothes had been altered to fit his smaller state, which from what Khadgar had seen, was still much larger than most of the others. He sat at the table, the chair creaking beneath his bulk. The remaining Frostwolves came in behind him, standing behind his chair for support. Garona followed them in, taking her place between them and Llane to act as translator. Khadgar had requested to transcribe the language into a book, though he was picking up bits and pieces of the gruff language as they went along.

“We left off with a compromise,” Llane began, folding his hands and leaning forward into the table. Beside him, Khadgar noticed Taria’s hand reach beneath the table to rest on his thigh. Likely as a form of discreet support, which was something Llane would need right now. “Durotan wishes to search for his mate and son. Khadgar, you will go with him as guide and aid?” Khadgar nodded once, “Yes your majesty. It will also give me time to see what damage the Fel as inflicted upon the forests and farmland. I see no reason I won’t be able to purify it.” He did not finish the sentence with, ‘as I did Medivh,’ but he may as well have. Llane swallowed thickly, and sighed with a small smile. 

“If there is anyone to trust with this, it is you, mage.” His smile faded quickly, and he turned to Garona, “Will you accompany them?” She seemed hesitant to agree readily, preferring instead to stay at his side. Lady Taria added gently, “You have proven yourself to be trustworthy and loyal to my family. You are of course free to do as you please.” The half-orc looked as though she wanted to cry, and Khadgar watched her compose herself quickly. “It would be an honour to do as my King wishes,” she returned, bowing in her respect. Taria did not hide her smile, and Llane managed only just. 

“It is decided. You will keep me updated should anything arise, and Khadgar, keep note of what you find. We may need to call upon it in the future.” The mage nodded in agreement, as he had intended to do so anyway. If his hands weren’t taking notes or casting spells, he didn’t know what to do with them. 

Garona translated the agreement to Durotan, who stood and clasped his fist to his chest, signifying his willingness to comply. Before they could leave the table, Llane stood as well and added, “And Durotan.”

The orc looked down at him, while Garona translated from the side. 

“When this is over, we will find you and your people a home. You have my word.”

-

Khadgar packed the bags on his horse, petting the great animals neck as he did to retain its calm. Outside the stable, three wolves awaited their riders, Sharptooth among them. His horses name was Miramis, and had belonged to one of the deceased generals. A fine horse, still young but tame, her mane black as coal and pelt a deep auburn. His horse would carry himself and anything he thought he might need, and another chestnut mare would carry their food and provisions to make camp. Not that, he guessed, the orcs were any sort to use much but what was around them. 

He had already mounted his horse when Durotan and two others strode down the street. Humans looked upon them with horror, curiosity, and fear. In an effort to perhaps help them ease, Khadgar smiled and waved in greeting. The orcs did not wave back, but Durotan nodded his head in acknowledgement. They carried their own bags, and saddled their wolves quickly. Durotan pulled a hunk of meat from a bag near-dripping with blood, and fed it to Sharptooth with a hushed praise. It was endearing to say the least. Khadgar gave no sign he had seen, and turned to look into the stable when he heard another set of hooves. Garona had selected a black stallion as her mount, wearing the silver and blue of Stormwind and it’s king. Her dagger rested sheathed at her side, but a large broadsword was strapped to her back. Khadgar noticed she looked at the castle one last time before they departed. Durotan set the pace, leading the way to the city exit as quickly as he was able. Khadgar followed with Garona beside, and the other two orcs brought up the rear. 

They travelled quickly through the forests, deciding to stay clear of the path. No bandits would dare attack them, and the animals would catch the scent of the wolves and scatter before they considered assaulting them. The ride was quiet, and did not take long. By the time they arrived at the remains of the orc encampment, Miramis was breathing heavily, and Khadgars legs had chaffed. Briefly he wondered if wearing plate was better than cloth, but ultimately there was no sense in wondering. Too late to go back now. 

Durotan found the remnants of his families tent, scorched, as with their few belongings they had brought from the other side. He said something in orcish, and Khadgar turned to Garona for translation. “He says she would have gone this way, given the battle was there.” She gestured behind her, towards the center of the camp. Khadgar nodded, and dismounted his horse to follow Durotan into what remained of the dwelling. 

His feet sunk deep into the ashen earth, and he closed his eyes as he breathed in the foul air of dark magic. He felt cursed, having touched it before in Karazhan. Durotan was pushing through the soot, sweating heavily from the ride and the exertion. Khadgar suspected it was more than his muscle mass that would need healing. Fel was still mysterious to him, and he was no healer, but he made himself a promise to investigate it further. 

Also promising it would never be more than from a textbook.

He crouched and began sifting through the charred remains, looking for some sort of clues as to what happened. None of them had been there, the other two orcs having been kept busy trying to save their clan. He found fur blankets from the local animals, and a few pieces of armour. Nothing more than that. He brushed his hands on his robes, looking up to see that Durotan was watching him. Khadgar felt embarrassed for some reason, something else he still didn’t know, and turned away to mount his horse again. Miramis snorted at the sudden movement, but otherwise calmed with a pat to her neck.

“We should go that way then,” Khadgar said, gesturing to where Durotan had pointed to a gap between the trees. The Warchief nodded, and if anyone noticed Sharptooth bend his leg to allow his master an easier lift, nobody said anything.

Continuing on, the wind in the wrong direction for tracking, they depended on the tracks in the dirt and moss. A broken blade of grass here, an overturned stone. It was obviously not a well travelled path, but one more than an individual had followed. Khadgar said as much to Garona, who did not repeat it for Durotan. When they exited the trees he’d never seen an orc move faster.

“Draka!”

The Warchief near stumbled off of Sharptooth, collapsing to his knees some yards away. Dismounting, Khadgar took cautious steps towards the great orc, taking in the scene.

A large Fel orc lay dead, his blood had pooled and dried behind his head and torso. Khadgar didn’t need to inspect him closer to see that his throat had been slashed-no. Bitten out. To the side and partially fallen into the water, Durotan held Draka in his arms. There was only one who it could be, and only one who could bring the Chieftain to his knees as he was now. There was a large, fearsome dagger protruding from her stomach, dark blood dry on her leathers and fur. The cursed blood of the one she’d killed was slathered across her mouth, and Khadgar felt his stomach begin to roll. 

He’d heard of men killing each other on the battlefield, opposite sides taking each other out simultaneously. But he’d never seen it until then. 

Durotan clutched her gingerly, as though she may further shatter in his arms. If he had looked weak before, now he appeared thoroughly crushed. Garona came to stand beside him, and grasped his wrist in a comfort he wasn’t sure was more for herself or for him. He looked over at her, her curled hair wispy in the summers warm breeze. Her eyes were not glassy, though it was clear she was distraught.

A piercing cry suddenly broke the silence, louder than anything Khadgar had ever heard.

Durotan roared at the bright blue sky, his face scrunched and maw wide open. The two orcs behind them stood with one arm crossed across their chests, and they quickly followed suit. Wide eyed, he looked at Garona for an explanation, but she just gestured at his mouth, and then began to roar herself. He didn’t understand.

He roared too.

His throat had grown hoarse by the time he stopped, tears in the corners of his eyes from the strain. Garona finished after him, and Durotan the last. The half-orc did not offer any further information, but gripped his wrist tighter for a moment before letting go, and kneeling down beside Durotan. Khadgar didn’t understand what they were saying, and turned to the other orcs. They, not unlike their leader, looked dismal. If anyone were to ask him then, if orcs deserved a place here in Azeroth, if they deserved to be treated as equals in intellect and emotion and strength, he knew what his answer would be. 

Durotan began digging a grave not far from Draka’s death site. With his bare hands, he clawed at the soft earth until a deep hole had been dug. Khadgar stood by, uncertain of what to do. 

“We should find a stone each,” Garona murmured to him, looking around the forest floor, “It is tradition.” She turned from him to find her own, heading deeper into the woods. Khadgar turned back towards the river, where he found the other two orcs had disposed of the Fel orcs’ body. A dark patch of blood marred the river stones, and more where Draka had lain. Throat tight, Khadgar began searching the shore for something appropriate. 

He quickly cursed himself for not asking on what the size should be, and pawed through the pebbles for something larger. It took him longer than he thought to find something he deemed appropriate. Garona had exited the forest and searched the shore with him, determined. Khadgar ignored the sweat stinging his eyes, and took the plunge into the shallows of the water when the shore became exhausting. The water was cool, and crystal clear in a way he found beautiful. One stone in particular caught his eye right away, larger than his hand and entirely black beneath the water. The splash he made in his eagerness to get it went ignored, and for that he was grateful. 

Pulling it from the water, he was disappointed to find that the stone had been cracked in half, the other nowhere to be seen. Where it wasn’t jagged, he found it must have been in the water for some time, worn smooth as glass beneath the currents. Speckled through it were tiny glittering sparkles, catching the sunlight and scattering it before his very eyes. Perhaps not a stone, but a jewel. He turned it over, so it lay flat against his palm. This side a stone, coarse and natural. The other, an earthly gemstone. 

Khadgar exited the water, hoping his robes would dry in the afternoon sunlight. Garona had found something as well, a rounded orange-brown stone. It had clear layers of colour, and Khadgar recognized it for the clay and sandstone that it was. Not uncommon beneath rivers. She eyed his hand, but said nothing as they walked back to the site together.

Durotan had finished, and had washed the remaining blood from his mates face. She rested easily on what looked like a tiny stretcher, long branches tethered together and covered with Durotans cloak. Before he placed her in the hole he had dug, Khadgar gasped as he tore out one of her fangs. He clutched the small bloodied bone in his hand tightly, stroking her hair one last time before the other Frostwolves began to bury her. 

When the ground was again flat, Garona held him beside her with a gentle grip on his hand. None of them made a sound, as the orcs placed their rocks on her grave. One large stone, easily heavier than Khadgar, had been placed at the head of her grave. Two smaller, similar shapes framed it, and he assumed between them was where their stones were to be placed. 

First a stone that appeared to be a grey spire, from the orc with the broken fang.

Second, a spherical stone from the orc with one eye.

Third, the sandstone from Garona.

Fourth, Khadgar. He awkwardly stepped forward, not unlike how he had done in the war room earlier that day, and placed his flat rock with the others. It glittered in the dapples of light that filtered through the canopy, and he brushed the headstone with his fingers briefly before returning to his place with Garona. She was smiling kindly at him, and now there really were tears in her eyes. 

The mage looked up to find that Durotan was looking at him with something akin to awe, before the Warchief took a stone of his own to put on his mates grave. When he had found the time to carve into it, Khadgar didn’t know, but as his weakened form moved to the head of the grave the mans heart ached. Durotan had selected a white stone, on which he had carved their Frostwolf image. He brought it to his lips, before resting it with the others, bright in comparison. 

“We will honour your spirit, Draka,” he murmured, looking up at the sky, “May the elements guide you home, and the spirits of our ancestors welcome you.”

And then, near abruptly, Durotan left. Garona shook her head when the others went to follow, and instead swallowed thickly before speaking.

“We should make camp. Not here,” she added quickly, “But nearby. He will find us when he seeks company.” Then she turned to Khadgar, “We have much to talk about, Khadgar.”

-

That night, Khadgar sat with Garona beside a small fire, not needed for heat but for the meat they cooked over it. The orc with the broken fang, Kothuk, had caught a stag despite their dried meats and other foods. Borak, who Khadgar now knew as Kothuk’s cousin, couldn’t seem to stop poking the raw meat, staring at it as though it might cook faster under his withering gaze. 

Khadgar wondered if they might eat it raw, were it not for him being there. Garona made small talk, speaking of Llane and Taria and little Varian, whom she had come to adore after just one visit. 

“I can’t imagine what he would do if he had to become king at such a young age.”

Khadgar nodded in agreement, taking a long swig of water, “Yes. It would have been a tragedy. And Llane has you to thank, I think, for his life.”

Garona accepts the praise humbly, not disagreeing or talking herself up. Instead she glows, proud to be serving her King. Khadgar wonders if perhaps there is more than admiration there, but does not voice this thought out loud. When their conversation dies down, Garona turns to face him, becoming quite serious. 

“Khadgar, that stone you presented for Draka’s spirit,” she begins, not shying away from something that clearly needs to be asked, “Why did you pick it?”

“It was pretty?” he says with a shrug, and then relents with a sigh, “No, because it was the first thing I saw that might be worthy of her. I never met her, but,” and here he glances at the shadows, knowing that her grave is there, and Durotan with it, “If she was his mate, then she must have been amazing.” He tears off a piece of bread, and rather than eat it rolls it in his hand until it is a tiny ball. Garona assesses him, and seems to weigh his words carefully. “That stone. It is not only from here. In our world, it is prized for its ties to the elements. It is protection, a sure connection to the elements and carries protective energies.” Khadgar looks at her, remembering quite suddenly that theirs is a shamanistic culture. He stops rolling the bread. “Oh.” She nods, and then smiles at him, all charm and genuine appreciation, “I would not be surprised if it were the elements that guided you to that stone.” 

Across the fire, Kothuk jumps to his feet with a loud growl, and it takes Khadgar an entire ten seconds to understand it isn’t because there’s an enemy, it’s because the food is ready. The sudden loud sound reminding him of earlier, Khadgar pops the bread sphere into his mouth and swallows before asking Garona about the roaring at the river. 

She finished a swig of sweet wine, before explaining. “It is a roar of death, so that our ancestors spirits might know they are to welcome a new spirit into their realm. We wait until after a battle has been won, so that our roars are heard and our brothers and sisters spirits can find their way. Usually, a great feast is held in the deads’ honour, and stories are shared over mead and mutton and cheer.” She sees his face of confusion, and cocks her head, “There is honour in death, and we,” she gestures to the cousins across the fire, “are a culture built on honour and death.”

When Khadgar goes to his blankets that night, laid beside the embers of the fire and beneath a starlit sky, he wonders to himself why he decided to come with Durotan on this quest. It is, he surmises, a mystery. He is no less grateful he decided to come. 

And, though he may not know it, Durotan is just as grateful for the company.

**Author's Note:**

> So! If you guys like this, I was actually thinking of turning it into a much longer fic. Fact of the matter is, I got this idea for a Durotan/Khadgar fic, and this would be a good jumping point for it. 
> 
> That said, I also know some people just like to read some chill, no-pairing stuff. So let me know what you guys think! (I might do it anyway, but the support and interest AND IDEAS are always welcome!)


End file.
